314) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 78 - The Benevolent Genocide (as told by the First Hierarch)

They decided their safest choice was to camp out on the stairs, right where they were. They needed time to rest, eat, and allow themselves time to come out of numb shock, minds full of memories and feelings and vast stretches of nothing.

It was eerie, trying to sleep in a cavern of carnivorous stalactites, especially after seeing how thoroughly Graxia was eaten, her entire body, clothes, everything. Only her Wand was left. They knew they needed to figure out how to retrieve it. Melkorn’s axe and Gorb’s hammer were similarly stranded. But, not right now. Right now…sleep.

The next day (they assumed it was day anyway, having no real idea of the time), they did some experimenting. Kohra’s skill with her “ForceBall” had progressed impressively. She found she could even, momentarily, grip something with it, bending it into a rough pincer-like hand. This way, she could flip, push, and roll the Wand along. It was slow going; the Wand was pelted repeatedly by small stalactites responding to its movement, but each time, they seemed to shy away from it. Evidently, magic wands weren’t very tasty.

Eventually, she successfully nudged it to the shore, out of the stalactites’ range. Then she went to work on the axe and hammer. They were much more difficult, being bigger and heavier. But by the time they broke for dinner, she’d retrieved them too.

Kohra was exhausted, but elated. Her ForceBall was really making a difference.  She…SHE was making a difference!

Everyone thought the Wand should be hers, but she declined. “It just, I don’t know, maybe I’d get used to it, but yeah, I don’t know, it just creeps me out too much….”

“I'll take it!” declared Lenny brightly. And that was that.

* * * * *

They spent an estimated three days in the cavern, sprawled out together on the solitary stone staircase.

The “door” stood at the top, a black rectangle, shimmering and mysterious. They all agreed immediately, even Lenny, that nobody was going anywhere near it until they were all one hundred percent ready.

As it turned out, they made excellent use of the time. For much of it, they slept, intensely, the exhaustion of their past several days finally causing their bodies to collectively mutiny.

Reilly practiced turning into Squirrelly, and more importantly, back again. Eventually, she didn’t require being beaten senseless in order to change back. Then she promptly got bored and started annoying the Hells out of everyone. After all, there wasn’t much for an eight-year-old to keep themselves busy with on a few stone steps in a cavern of darkness. Grok suggested she start trying to make the squirrel-form a little different, like maybe giving herself a longer or shorter tail, or trying a black squirrel form instead of a grey one.

“Or a flying squirrel!” Melkorn added.

Reilly’s eyes lit up. She was going to be able to fly!!

Gorb spent much of his time in prayer, still seeking to reconnect with the Light.

Grok spent her hours talking with each of them in turn, listening to their life stories, asking probing questions, holding space for their emotions. It was clear she quite loved this motley crew she’d become part of, and equally clear the feelings were mutual.

Dominic and Grok talked philosophy. They seemed inexhaustible. Never had Dominic encountered another person with such an open mind and bottomless well of ideas. Kohra tuned in every now and then to hear what they were talking about. But, in small snippets at least, it all sounded sort of the same.

Melkorn mostly lay sprawled out on the steps, listening to the conversations and watching Reilly’s attempts at transformation. He was endlessly amused by her, especially when she got frustrated. Which was about every three minutes. She’d ball her little fists, stomp around, kick at the stairs and curse, and he’d grin, waiting for her to calm down again. When she transformed, he’d clap and cheer, and Squirrelly would climb around on him like he was a tree.

Lenny sat on the top step for the most part, reading. She was very secretive about her book, which Kohra distantly recognized as the book she’d taken from the library in Annuvin. She wouldn’t let anyone see it, constantly looked over her shoulder to make sure nobody was trying to peek, and when asked what it was about, would only say “trees.”

* * * * *

And remarkably quickly, thanks entirely to Grok’s life-saving potion, Kohra healed. Her body was becoming quite the work of art. She was proud of it, she realized. Especially the scars, now criss-crossing her chest, stomach, arms, thighs and her right cheek. They told the story of what she had survived.

Something was shifting inside her. She didn’t want to think about or analyze it too much, which in itself was a major change. But she was…different.

She thought about where they’d been, what they’d been through, the dangers faced, the powers discovered, the allies made, the secrets revealed. The old Kohra seemed so long ago now, that scared-yet-adventurous little girl, playing in the market square while Big Changes happened all around her, the girl who stayed silent more often than not because after all, who would care what she had to say? That girl was fading, the pieces falling away, like eggshells when the new life inside starts to emerge.

Who would replace that girl? Who was coming to life in her place?

She didn’t know. And for once, she didn’t worry about it. Whatever was happening, it was real. It was her life. And, she knew, deep down although it still made her uncomfortable to admit it, she KNEW that she had risen to the challenge.

She spent a long time laying in the semi-darkness, letting herself feel just what that felt like. She…she had done it. She’d come through, when it mattered the most.

* * * * *

Devona stayed quite solitary, staring out over the black water into the cavern. She was also changing, and especially with regards to Kohra. She didn’t understand it. But it was undeniable that her feelings and attachment were…shifting.

Eventually, to distract herself, she decided to look through the old butler’s diary that they’d stolen from his bedroom.

It was mostly mundane. Apparently, he sorely missed this girl he’d left many years earlier, and he wrote poems to her, apology letters, and sometimes just “Dear Athelia” letters about the goings-on in Graxia’s army. It wasn’t all that interesting, but sitting in a giant cave, at least it was something to do.

And then, quite by surprise, she noticed that one cover had partly detached from the outer page, forming a little pocket. She wiggled a slender finger inside. Sure enough, there was something there, several pages, folded in half to fit inside the cover.

Glancing around furtively to ensure nobody was watching, she unfolded a handwritten note. It was the same Whiteling script as they’d seen in Graxia’s library, but the penmanship was of a different quality, meticulously neat, with the symbols carefully ordered in perfect lines across the page.

* * * * *

Devona couldn't tell Kohra the truth about her “Shaping” abilities. It wasn't at all the same for the two of them. She didn't even really Shape the Flux anymore. She Summoned, directly, the powers she needed. This was far superior to Shaping, she was certain. Bringing down the stalactites would have been a snap. But she hadn’t wanted to steal Kohra’s thunder. It was nice for Kohra to feel useful.

But right now, Devona needed to read Whiteling.

She felt the shift in her eyes. Everything sharpened, down to the smallest detail on people's skin. She could see every strand of hair on their heads, every crinkle in their clothes moving as they breathed. Then her vision shifted and it was like was looking right through people, like they were ghosts, long dead, their current forms only fading echoes.

Focusing on the papers, an image swam into her mind, like a dream. She was walking down a hallway. It was familiar. A hand reached forward, an old man’s hand, opening a door. “She” entered the room, her awareness merging with the old man’s, and realized with a start, it was Graxia’s bedroom.

The vision floated over to the nightstand by Graxia’s bed. The old man’s hand opened a drawer, taking out a red, leather-bound notebook and opening it. A second hand came into vision, holding a pen. It started to copy the symbols onto a second sheet of paper, one symbol meticulously and perfectly replicated before moving onto the next.

Suddenly, Devona understood. He was trying to steal the Inheritance himself!

She felt a pang of guilt, remembering how miserable he’d looked when Lenny sent him scampering for his life down the trail. He could’ve been anybody. He could’ve even been his own version of a hero.

Well, it was too late for that now. She wished him well in her mind. He was probably resourceful enough to make it on his own, she decided. After all, he’d been resourceful enough to carry out his one-man long-con on Graxia.

She focused on the copied symbols, laid out flat in front of her, Surrendering herself to the Entity who would help her understand.

The symbols blurred, becoming indistinct as they rearranged themselves into different forms. Then her vision sharpened again, the passage now perfectly legible, although the language was archaic and unfamiliar in its structure.

She read carefully, seeking to understand not merely the word-for-word literal translation, but as her tutors had taught her, to put the words into context and discern the true meaning they represented. It was hard work. But she had time.

By the end of the second day, she was done. Gathering the others, sitting in a candle-lit circle, she told them she’d found a secret message. “It required some translating, but I think I’ve worked it out.” She smiled confidently, although purposefully avoided Kohra’s eyes.

The others were confused.

“When did you learn to translate Whiteling?” Dominic asked.

She paused, uncertain how to explain it, but Lenny, surprisingly enough, jumped in. “Remember the Ogres, back on our journey to Grok’s Trading Post? Somehow, the Flux helped me understand their language once I simply concentrated on it. Makes sense Dev could read Whiteling; she’s been poring over this book for like, two days or something.”

That seemed good enough for everyone. Except Kohra, who was clearly uncomfortable about something.

Dev pretended not to notice. Kohra was probably just jealous. Maybe hurt that Dev hadn’t included her. Kohra was like that, always wanting to do everything together, and getting jealous when Dev was better at something than her. Which was, Dev had to admit, most of the time.

Excitement hung in the air like perfume. Gorb lit a second candle. It was spooky, each person’s face softly lit, while their giant shadows flickered and danced on the cavern walls, like cosmic monsters or demons from some ancient realm.

Devona cleared her throat. “I translated this as well as I could. In some cases I had to make a few guesses, because the literal word-for-word translation doesn’t always add up to the larger meaning, but as I’ve learned —”

Kohra rolled her eyes, “Oh just read it already!”

* * * * *

The Zhaalmohhrian Bloodline: the True History of Our People

It is time to let go of what you have believed, what you have learned from those who have swallowed the Lie all civilization has been infected with since the beginning of time. Now you will learn the Truth. May the scales of ignorance and false humility fall from your eyes.

The great and noble Zhaalmohhrian House descends directly in an unbroken line from the greatest of the Founders.

As legend holds, in the beginning, in the first Meeting of the Races, there were four Founders, the progenitors of all civilization to come:

First was Tarlan, of the Republic of the Free, a noble, but paranoid and violent people, highly sophisticated in warfare, but impoverished in culture, with little aptitude for or understanding of the Flux. They held to a philosophy of individual Freedom and Clan loyalty.

They had survived the long millenia of the Lost Age underground, in the cave complexes of the Near Dark, depending intensely on their Clansmen for survival. Before the First Meeting, they believed themselves to be the only people. They had no knowledge whatsoever of the wars that split the WorldSkin. They were proud and xenophobic, viewing all Aliens, as they called others, with suspicion. 

Collectively, they are a paranoid people. Their millenia of skulking in caves, never braving the TopWorld nor venturing into and being transformed by the DeepWorld, they had failed to grow into their potential. They remained forever stunted, like a child who never matures. They called themselves Humans, and believed this was the name given to all people before WorldEnd.

It was clear from the beginning that they would be the most easily controlled, destined to be serfs and foot-soldiers in the great Whiteling Oneness.

“The Great Whiteling Oneness?” laughed Lenny. “This is hilarious!”

Devona frowned. “I don’t think it’s meant as a joke, Lenny.”

“That’s why it’s hilarious!” She motioned for Dev to continue. “Keep going, keep going. This is great stuff!”

Devona glared at her, but continued.

“Second, was Philippa, of the Klliik of the….”

Here she paused. “I do not know how to translate this word. The closest I could get was “Sparkled Sky.”  She shrugged, then resumed reading in her “official translator voice.”

“The Klliik of the Sparkled Sky, a fierce, barbarian people, but well-organized and honourable, who claimed the Frostlands not only as their homeland, but as their collective Voice. They were a people of song and harmony, having built their culture around Sound in their millennia in the dark depths of DeepWorld. According to scholars, the Klliik ventured almost as deep as the Whiteling. They are, therefore, a powerful Race, not to be underestimated.

The Klliik comprised a vast peoples who had connected many regions both on the Surface and in the DeepWorld, carving out a sprawling empire of fiefdoms, walled cities, immense stone castles, and mines deeper and grander than any other Race has achieved to this day, except of course, the Whiteling.

It was clear from the beginning that they posed the most imminent threat to the rightful domination of the Hierarchs.

Devona paused, shaking her head. “These people sure think highly of themselves….”

Lenny glanced sideways at Kohra, who caught her eye, and smirked. Lenny smirked back. They were both thinking exactly the same thing.

“Third was Carllaeyn Finleah, of the people who called themselves Branches of the WorldTree. They were the most difficult for us to communicate with, their language indecipherable, limiting our interchanges to the rudimentary and coarse.

From what we could glean, they had not developed basic construction or military technology. We came to simply refer to them as ‘Treelings,’ although they are colloquially referred to as Elves, a deservedly derogatory reference to some now-forgotten story of old. It was clear that they were savages, of inferior intellect and technology to the other Races.

Relations with these ‘Elves’ became strained, due to their rebellion over the selfless Whiteling engineers’ attempts to help them improve their lands and lift themselves out of their poverty.

These rebellions eventually led to the historic Breaking of the Bond, when the magnificent Whiteling battalions, along with several tribes of the Klliik, invaded the savages’ HomeWorld. They were easily vanquished. Only a few managed to escape, hiding behind the defensive barrier called the Green Wall.

Ever since, the ‘Elves’ have remained hidden from the rest of the worlds, although scattered remnants and orphans can still be found scattered through the worlds.

From the beginning, it was unclear what role these savages would play, but we suspected that, over the long arc of time, they would prove to be the most meddlesome.”

Here Devona stopped again, looking at Kohra with a slight, warm smile. “That sounds about right….” Kohra smiled back, but found herself wondering exactly what she meant by that. It seemed to be meant in a positive way, but…Kohra just didn’t have enough time to think it out; Dev was continuing.

“The last, and greatest of the Founders was your own forebear, the first Hierarch, Matriarch of the Zhaalmohhrian family, the great Graaasslchch the Wise. Her legend is well known to all Whiteling. Thousands of years old, she was a child of Lucifer themselves, the All-Knowing Thoth, the great Jesus, God of Knowledge, Allah the Merciful, Jehovah the vengeful, the wondrous Chthulhu the Uniter, Kali the Slayer of Death, Mother of all, Vishnu the unimaginable, the one true God we know by the First Name — Aboleth.

Graaasslchch, armed with no charms, accompanied by no soldiers, protected only by the Word, was initially viewed by the other Founders as the most terrifying, her facial paralysis and slurred speech making it hard for them to understand her or believe that she had the Knowledge of WorldHeart, as she claimed.

But one by one, as she had foretold, they failed their tests of honour, revealing their bloodlines to be steeped in betrayal and weakness. Graaasslchch knew, from the very beginning, that we were destined to purify the Races. We, the Zhaalmohhrians, chief Hierarchs of the Whiteling, would eventually cleanse the worlds and usher in the Final Age, the Age of Eternal Magnificence, the Infinitity of Aboleth.

Many lies have been told of the Whiteling by those who cannot See. In their ignorance, the lesser Races accuse US of being the ones to fear and hate others, to worship and be enslaved by the Lords of Evil.

In their childlike simplicity, they imagine Evil to be synonymous with death, and fail to realize that it is their own stunted development, their own domination by their rudimentary animal nature, which prevents the flourishing of The Good.

Were they to see the truth, they would accept their own genocide as an act of mercy and a salve on the Collective Being.

Let the blazing fire of Truth be your only guide, and you will See, and will never be lost again.

The Whiteling were, from the beginning, the most civilized of the Races, the first to emerge from the Lost Age, the first to make contact with the others, the first to extend a helping hand to the other Races, that they may grow in wisdom and mature into allies under the banner of Truth. Indeed, it was the Whiteling who argued for the expansion of the Bond to include the fifth peoples, those who call themselves Earthborn, those whom the others feared but the Whiteling embraced, for we knew their importance as soldiers and serfs in the coming Cleansing.

We Zhaalmohhrian, Royal Bloodline of the Whiteling Hierarchs, are the keepers of the True History. It is our destiny, as it is now your destiny, Noble Heir, to be uniters, to fulfill the unsurpassable Will of Aboleth. For it was from the WorldHeart itself that we discovered the most precious gift of all, how to See.

This will be your Inheritance, if you prove yourself worthy of your birth and enter your ancestral tomb. Follow your Matriarch, and then you will See, and forevermore, dwell in Truth.”